


Why We Can't Have Nice Things

by waketosleep



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Clothing, First Date, Hidden Depths, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-27
Updated: 2011-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-15 03:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waketosleep/pseuds/waketosleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Steve is actually a clothes horse but dresses like the Walmart bargain bin for work because he knows he's just going to get it all dirty anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why We Can't Have Nice Things

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my 'it's a goddamn love-in' prompt orgy. This can be blamed on Fallia, via Sutlers.

The restaurant was packed when Danny got there, which had to be a good sign (especially since they had reservations and weren't going to have to wait a million years to be seated). He was a couple minutes early so he slouched in the entryway, several feet from the smokers, and shoved his hands in his pockets as he idly watched the street for Steve.

There was no sign of Steve for five minutes and it was pretty much time for their reservation. As Danny watched a tall, well-dressed guy jaywalking from the other side of the street, he started wondering if he should just go in and make sure they didn't get skipped over, or if Steve was going to stand him up and leave him sitting alone at a table in an Italian restaurant like a movie cliche. _Pass_ , thought Danny, shifting irritably from foot to foot, and then the well-dressed guy marched right up to him and said, "Hey, Danno."

Danny blinked and thought about the fact that he hadn't recognized Steve purely because of his sartorial choices for the evening, and whether he should take that to the grave. Then he realized that this was Steve and a prime opportunity for insults was standing right in front of him, so he crossed his arms and said, "What the fuck are you wearing?"

Steve looked down at himself; he was in grey slacks and a dark blue button-down shirt (a _fitted_ shirt and _tailored_ slacks, Danny was obviously hallucinating this whole thing). "You don't like it?" he asked, looking up again with a raised eyebrow.

Danny sputtered, letting Steve turn him by the shoulder and herd him into the restaurant.

"Two for McGarrett at seven," he said over Danny's head, smiling at the hostess.

"I didn't know you _knew where to buy those clothes_ ," said Danny. "I mean, they don't sell that in the little clothing corral at Costco, do they?" He paused in their journey to the table, letting the hostess get ahead of them. "Do they?" he asked, suddenly unsure. He bought his clothes at clothing stores for adults, after all. "Is that a Costco brand dress shirt, Steven?"

Steve planted a hand between his shoulder blades to propel him forward again. "It's Dolce and Gabbana," he growled, "and no, Daniel, they don't sell them at Costco."

Danny's speechlessness carried him the rest of the way to their table and into his seat, at which point Steve took advantage and ordered the wine.

"My worldview is shaken," Danny said finally. "Ten minutes ago, I'd have thought if someone asked you what Dolce and Gabbana was, you'd ask if they made guns. And now you own their clothing."

Steve shrugged and smiled at the sommelier who was approaching with their wine. "It's a nice restaurant, I thought I'd dress for it. I see you're not wearing a tie."

"I don't always wear ties," said Danny, realizing he'd just laid his hand on his chest where his tie should hang. "I don't wear them on dates unless I'm going dancing or something. Ties are for work. Hey," he said, laying his hands flat on the table as the thought occurred to him. "If you own grown-up clothes, why do you dress like an idiot who shops at Costco for work every day? Have my lectures on professionalism in the workplace meant nothing?"

Steve sipped his freshly poured wine. "I can't wear my nice clothes to work," he said. "It's impractical."

"I've never had an issue," said Danny.

"You buy all your shit at like, _Eddie Bauer_ ," Steve said, spitting out the name of Danny's favourite clothier as though it tasted bad in his mouth. "My nice stuff is _actually nice_. You get a little blood or mud on Gucci, it's not coming out."

Danny stared and then groped blindly for his wine glass. He was now living in a world where Steven J. McGarrett, who'd worn button-fly cargoes to work the day before, who wore Timberland boots day in and day out (when he wasn't in flip-flops), was dissing Danny's dress sense.

And was a label snob.

Danny took a large sip--a gulp, more like--of wine. It was probably great wine, because Steve knew his booze, but Danny didn't care, he just wanted alcohol in his system ASAP. When he'd swallowed it, he said, "I don't know what hurts more, this entire conversation or the implication that you expect to get blood on you _in the course of a regular workday_."

Steve rolled his eyes. "And here I thought you'd appreciate me dressing up for a change. For _you_ , you jackass. Next time I'll just rip open a new pack of t-shirts from Walmart and be done with it."

Danny let out an involuntary shudder.

Steve smirked and stood up. "Bathroom," he said. "If the waiter comes back, I'm having the spaghetti carbonara."

Danny nodded and opened his own menu as Steve left the table. His eyes followed Steve out of habit though, and he found himself checking out the lean, tapering lines of Steve's back under the shirt, his gaze pulled as if by magnetism to Steve's ass. Danny tilted his head thoughtfully at the sight of Steve's ass in tailored slacks.

Okay, so maybe he did appreciate the effort. Even if it was weird. It was a weird he could get used to in a hurry, that was all he was saying.

 

THE END


End file.
